The Fundamental Error
by Blaineandthepips
Summary: Kurt is beginning his third year at NYU, not NYADA, pondering fate and the path his life has taken. Follows Kurt coming to terms with where his life is with help from Blaine. AU story where Kurt and Blaine never met in high-school.
1. Prologue

**A/N:**

_This is just an idea I've been playing around with. At this stage it is stand alone, but the door has been left partially open for a potential continuation. Please do not expect anything, although, I assure you that, should I decide to continue, I have no intention of abandoning an incomplete work._

_Short disclaimer: I intend no copyright infringement. I do not own Glee, or Kurt and Blaine, nor do I profit in any way from writing this._

_To set the scene: This is an Alternate Universe piece where Blaine and Kurt never met in high school and Blaine is a year older than Kurt. Kurt did not receive a place in NYADA, but is studying Musical Theatre at NYU._

_I hope you enjoy it._

* /\ * * /\ ** /\ ** /\ *

Kurt had failed.

During high school at McKinley he had made a fundamental error. No, The Fundamental Error.

Now, Kurt was of the opinion that making an error of this nature was not something that could dramatically alter the course of one's life. He had always been a romantic at heart, a romantic with a tendency to want to believe in fate. It may seem cliché to believe that 'everything happens for a reason', but, in a way, it's also far safer.

Every single decision that we make and every action that we take, even at seemingly unimportant moments, can alter the course of our lives. We don't think about the possibilities, but something as simple as deciding not to prepare a packed lunch in favour of purchasing lunch can nudge someone in a slightly different direction down life's path. What if, on that day, a person fate had determined you would spend the rest of your life with also chose to purchase their lunch in the same place? Or, what if they happened to be hurrying down the street as you made your way to purchase your lunch? Or maybe by deciding to purchase your lunch, you are not sitting at college eating and working when the fire alarm sounds, so you don't find yourself inconvenienced by losing your spot in your favourite study space. In any of these scenarios, a small choice has altered your life, even if it might seem to be in an almost imperceptible way.

We will never know whether each of these little decisions alters the path we take to lead us to a final destination pre-determined for us by fate, or whether each little decision is something that fundamentally alters our life course. Kurt, however, wanted very much to believe the former. It seems safer, and it also makes one less accountable for one's place in life. If everyone has a pre-determined destination, perhaps only certain paths can lead there. While we can, perhaps, either inadvertently or intentionally change our course slightly, it is sometimes easier to hope that there is something bigger than ourselves to take at least a portion of the accountability.

And yet, we still have to accept the reality of our own agency. This means that people can make fundamental errors.

And what was The Fundamental Error that Kurt made?

Caring too much.

He believed that something would happen and invested in that belief. Worst of all, he demonstrated his belief to those around them. He made it known that he had hopes and dreams, and that they meant something to him. He had known hope and shown it, and had been hurt in return.

NYADA was the goal. It was the dream. He believed he could make it. He cared, he tried, and he invested in a specific hopeful vision for his future. The result of investing in something in the way Kurt invested in the dream of NYADA is that one completely opens oneself up to being hurt. You give someone else the power to deny you something that you have admitted you want. You give someone the power to crush part of your spirit. You give someone the power to tell you that you aren't good enough.

Despite knowing intellectually that you yourself are the only person that can judge your worth, by admitting to yourself that you have hope for something involving other people, you open yourself up to hurt, damage and pain.

That letter from NYADA, telling Kurt that the school thanked him for his application 'but didn't feel that, at this time, the skills and abilities demonstrated in the audition corresponded with what the school was looking for' had wounded him.

He was aware, intellectually, that he hadn't diminished in worth. Proof of this could be seen in his acceptance into a Music Theatre programme in Vocal Performance at New York University. Yet still, having something ripped away from him, something he had admitted to himself, his peers, his teachers, and even his family that he wanted, damaged his self-esteem and his belief in himself.

Kurt was happy at NYU. He had no doubt that this university was where he was supposed to be. He enjoyed his classes, studied and practised hard, and explored his city in his spare time. It wasn't that there was something wrong with his life; the error didn't affect his ultimate destination. It did, however, put some pot holes in the way of his life path.

It had made him just that bit less confident in himself.

What Kurt didn't realise, was that the effect of the error ran deeper than that, and would be harder to get over than just knowing that he was 'good enough'.

* /\ * * /\ ** /\ ** /\ *

Kurt sighed as he stood from his seat next to the window and gently stretched his back. He had found himself in an introspective mood quite regularly recently.

He muttered "no more" as he almost imperceptibly shook his head.

Kurt had made a decision. He was going to fight against that feeling that had haunted him since the day he had made the error of letting himself get hurt. It had been two years since that letter had been delivered. This was his third year at college, and it was going to be a good year. Any hurt would be firmly placed in the 'past' compartment.

He pushed in his chair, and left some money on the table to cover the cost of his coffee before strolling purposely from The Daily Grind.

Perhaps it was just the normal New Year optimism, but Kurt had a feeling that this year may be different.

On the other side of the room a curly haired boy glanced back down at his reading for his Music Composition class. He had noticed the attractive boy slowly sipping his coffee in The Daily Grind before. He'd never thought of him as anything other than 'coffee guy' before, had never spared him more than a passing glance, but something about the look on his face today had caught his attention. He had appeared so caught up in thought, so serious, and yet so closed. It had been intriguing.

Blaine shook his head and returned to his reading. 'People watching' was fun, but potentially creepy if the 'people' unintentionally became 'person'.


	2. Chapter One: Hope

_**A/N:**__ I have thought about it, and have decided to continue this story through part of Kurt's third year at university. The previous chapter did not seem to conclude anything. As such, it has become something of a prologue to a longer piece._

_Please excuse my attempts at describing New York University – I have done my best to keep things accurate as far as I can from exploring the NYU website and campus maps, but, past my brief research session, please note that I have taken some liberties, as a NYU attended by Kurt, Rachel and Blaine is a fictional place and primarily intended a setting for this story._

_I'm aware that Blaine has yet to make a huge appearance in this story – but please be assured that he will. I intend for the next chapter to give us a closer look at where Blaine currently is in his life at the time where this story is set._

_Short disclaimer: I intend no copyright infringement. I do not own Glee, or Kurt and Blaine, nor do I profit in any way from writing this._

_Other than those quick notes, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter._

**Chapter One: Hope**

Hope can have multifaceted and unanticipated consequences.

It can make the future seem to hold potential. It can provide justification for one's continued existence. It can lead to the creation of goals and to achievements beyond what those who fail to hope could ever imagine.

However, it can also have more immediate, often less anticipated, consequences relating to how one approaches the present.

What if, in holding out hope, one becomes used to simply 'dealing' with the present? Does that not entail something akin to accepting that one does not have the efficacy to deal with the here and now? Sometimes, by looking at the future and imagining how it could be - how it _will_ be – so much brighter, we inadvertently accept that our here and now is a status quo that cannot be immediately changed.

Hope is, in some ways, in some situations, just another form of identifying what is wrong with the present. The hope that someday you will manage to lose those extra few pounds implies that you are not satisfied with your weight in the present. The hope that someday you will meet the love of your life implies that you currently feel as if you are missing a romantic relationship.

In Kurt's case, the hope he held that he would find somewhere that he really fit in – something more than just an oasis of acceptance in Glee club – clearly demonstrated the daily torture of loneliness that he faced during high school.

But what happens when what you have always hoped for does not come to pass?

Kurt found himself deferring his hope. When faced with disappointment he would simply transfer the anticipated time-frame for the inclusion that he longed for on to his next major life event. Throughout elementary school, he had hoped that once he reached middle school he would find a group that would accept him. When this didn't happen, when the other kids just became even more cruel and unaccepting of anything different, he began to hope that once he reached high school something would shift in the minds of his tormentors. Once slushies became a daily ritual, his hope was transferred on to college. He had been doing this for as long as could remember. It was not a conscious action, but it allowed him to continue to exist.

This pattern had two consequences.

The first was that Kurt invariably threw himself into whatever his current project was. This normally took the form of academics and clubs. While his grades looked good on his transcript, they also became all consuming. Kurt found that he could rarely justify spending time with others when he could be holed up in his room writing an essay.

The second consequence of Kurt's pattern was less tangible.

Each time that he felt the bitter disappointment of hope not realised, Kurt would transfer his hope on to his next target. He would also solidity the wall that he was building around his feelings. Feeling alone hurt, so he had to distance himself from that hurt. He had to pretend that he didn't care, that he didn't feel inconsolable when it sunk in that, yet again, he would have to wait and hope for something better. Kurt's wall became stronger and stronger as, over the years, he was repeatedly shown proof that he needed to protect his feelings. As his wall went up, Kurt drew away and became increasingly isolated. School became more important, because it was something he could control in the present.

At the same time, the focus of his hope for fitting in had become increasingly vague. Now he just hoped that 'sometime in the future, maybe after college' he would fit in. There didn't seem to be another major life event to which he could attach his hope. So Kurt became more absorbed in his academic life and, as a result increasingly less comfortable with others. He had a few close friends, all former members of the New Directions. He was still particularly close to his step-brother, Finn, and to his flatmate, Rachel. However, he was stuck in that dangerous state of existence that is brought about by hope – he was living for the future.

Without realising it, he had thrown himself into that state of hope equating to accepting that some part of one's current situation is less than the ideal. He was not fighting to improve his present – he had accepted that loneliness was the status quo until such time as he reached a vague 'future'.

So, hope can be dangerous. By hoping, one draws oneself into thoughts of the future, into an imaginary construct. One can come to accept a less than satisfactory present, without ever consciously making a decision to do so.

It is true that hope is a necessary ingredient for goals, dreams and accomplishments.

However, like most things in life, hope is but one ingredient that must be balanced relative to other facets of our existence.

Kurt had lost this balance.

*/\**/\**/\**/\*

"See you later!" Kurt called out as he rushed out of the apartment he shared with Rachel, precariously balancing his cup of coffee on top of his note-taking folder.

He and Rachel had shared an apartment ever since they had made the move to New York. It was nothing fancy – two bedrooms, one bathroom (complete with carefully negotiated usage schedule), a kitchen and a living room – but it was 'home' and, thanks to Kurt's interior design skills, it was nicely decorated.

Rachel had also chosen to attend NYU to study Drama and Musical Theatre. While she had been offered a place off the waiting list at NYADA (she was sure she would have received an offer the first time around had it not been for the infamous ballot-box stuffing incident), extensive research about the percentage rates of performers that had successfully made the leap to Broadway after attending NYADA had convinced her that NYU was a far better option. It seemed that many of those accepted into NYADA had simply peaked in college and then faded – and that was not something that would happen to Miss Rachel Berry.

After two years, Kurt had his schedule down to a fine art. He was never running late, but he restricted his travelling time to the point that he was always in a state of 'rush' when going about any daily errands. It had now been three weeks since classes began for the year, and Kurt knew exactly how long it took him to get from his apartment to his first class – 11 minutes at a brisk walk.

Kurt glanced at his watch as he neared the entrance to Tisch Hall, the building which housed many of the lecture theatres, practice rooms and seminar rooms used for his classes. After a brief sip of his coffee he reached out to pull the door open, only to find that someone else was currently attempting to do exactly the same thing and had apparently beaten him to the door handle by a fraction of a second.

"Oh, sorry," Kurt drew his hand back, embarrassed.

The curly haired, headphone wearing young man beside him finished pulling the door open and turned to Kurt, gesturing that he should proceed through the door.

Kurt remained rooted to the spot, feeling as if he had been short circuited by someone who clearly intended to display the same door etiquette that he always felt obliged to show. It is, after all, polite to stand aside to let someone else proceed through a doorway first. He gestured quickly towards the doorway, indicating that the gentleman currently holding the door open could proceed through.

However, he clearly had other ideas. "You first," he said, before again gesturing that Kurt should proceed.

Kurt felt his cheeks beginning to heat up. Walking through a door should not be so difficult. And yet, he felt that it would now be incredibly awkward if he were to just walk right in front of the person currently holding the door open. Besides, what if he finally decided that he was tired of waiting and Kurt accidentally collided with him in an attempt to step through the door – now that would be embarrassing!

Kurt hesitated for a second more before reaching out and grasping the handle on the second of the two doors. He pulled it open and then gestured that they could both step through at the same time.

"There are two doors anyway," he muttered quietly, feeling highly embarrassed and still incredibly conscious of the colour on his cheeks.

"True," replied the other boy as he entered the building beside Kurt.

Thankfully, they turned in opposite directions almost immediately.

Kurt finished the final mouthful of his coffee and put his reusable mug in his bag before proceeding briskly into the lecture theatre for his first class.

He took his usual seat – near the front and towards the right – before he pulled out his pen. His impeccable timing afforded him no time at all to ponder his awkward encounter at the doorway to Tisch Hall.

*/\**/\**/\**/\*

Having completely forgotten about his early morning encounter, Kurt walked out of his final class of the day, his English Literature Drama Studies tutorial. His plans for the evening included reviewing the returned essay he was currently holding, completing the required readings for the rest of his classes that week, and then cooking a nice healthy dinner to share with Rachel.

On his way home he simply couldn't resist taking a peek at the marking page of his essay. This was his first essay of the semester, and he always felt a slight thrill upon receiving confirmation that there was at least one aspect of his life in which he didn't have to feel inferior. Academic work was his escape. It was something he could control. His marks were his and his alone.

Kurt stopped dead still in the middle of the sidewalk.

There, printed at the bottom of the marking page, below the marker's comments, was '62% - C+'.

He flipped quickly back to the covering page, and then through the essay, checking to make sure that he had collected the correct assignment. Surely that appalling mark didn't belong to him? He had worked hard on this essay and he didn't understand how this could have happened.

Kurt felt devastated, lost, hurt and confused. He almost ran home, looking only at the pavement. It was a complete wonder that he didn't collide with anyone on his way.

Kurt had found himself repeatedly reminded throughout his life that he 'just wasn't good enough'. He didn't fit in, was not particularly interested in athletic endeavours, hadn't been accepted into NYADA and constantly felt like an outsider. The one thing he did have to throw himself into was his academic work. Sometimes he wasn't sure how he did it, but he found that if he worked hard enough, his work was usually returned to him with encouraging comments and fairly high marks – mostly in the A range. As he had increasingly pushed parts of his life aside in an attempt to consume his present while hoping for the future, he had become absorbed in academic work. It had become one of the few things that motivated him to continue through each day. And now that was under threat.

What could he do?

He didn't know.

He didn't know what to do, and that scared him.

He was terrified.

One of the only constants in his life was under threat and Kurt was scared.

He knew, logically, that one less than satisfactory grade shouldn't throw him this much. He probably shouldn't be invested in one thing to the point that a slight set-back could have such an all-encompassing effect on him. Yet, in this moment, Kurt felt like he was losing touch with the world. This one knock had made him feel inferior.

Shakily, Kurt poured himself a glass of cold water from the fridge. He forced himself to sit on the couch and sip at the water.

Soon, Kurt couldn't keep himself from reaching for the essay. His tutor's comments were brief, as per usual.

_Kurt – while your writing and grammar are impeccable, it seems that you have misunderstood the purpose of this essay. You have offered a detailed analysis of the progression of academic writing on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet over the last century and have correctly identified the several different ways in which this text has been assessed by leading academics. However, you have not assessed which of these interpretations you feel best accounts for why the themes of this piece have remained poignant to those in love. It seems that you have not moved past the writing and into your perception of reality in the way we had hoped._

_(62% - C+)._

Kurt felt empty.

The comments did not attack him unfairly – they simply stated that he had not fulfilled the criteria required for the assignment.

He knew that a C+ wasn't even a fail grade. His grade could be worse.

Not achieving to his usual standard still made him feel hurt and humiliated.

The only way he could see to move forward was to fix this. He had to work harder and do better. He could not fail like this again – he couldn't bear it.

Gradually Kurt began to feel determination fill him. He wasn't entirely aware of what he was doing, but he sat at the kitchen table, laid out his work for all four of his classes in front of him and quickly grabbed for his next reading and a highlighter. He would stay in that position 24/7 if he had to.

*/\**/\**/\**/\*

Rachel found Kurt in almost exactly the same position four hours later.

"Hey, Kurt, sorry I'm late. Rehearsal ran longer than I thought. What's for dinner?" Rachel threw down her bag and hung up her coat before noticing that Kurt had not answered her at all.

"Kurt?" she called out.

No answer.

Then she noticed him sitting at the kitchen table, frantically flicking through several piles of paper that surrounded him.

"Kurt?" she asked.

"I can't find it!" said Kurt, sounding almost hysterical.

"What can't you find?"

"The piece of paper!"

"What piece of paper?"

"That one… that one with the triangle… and the diagram… and it had my notes on that theory. I need that theory. My next essay will fail too if I can't integrate that theory. That one about how everything we read is coloured by our own experiences. Where is it? I need that piece of paper."

Kurt seemed to be speaking almost to himself. He seemed almost possessed as he threw pieces of paper aside, barely sparing a glance at each one. He had yet to even look at Rachel.

Rachel had no idea what to do. Kurt had never acted this way before. He was always so organised, so on top of his academic work. Something must have happened. But what? Did he say he failed an essay?

"Kurt, are you alright? What happened?" she asked hesitantly.

"Nothing, Rachel. I'm fine. I just need that piece of paper. Did you take it? Where is it?"

"I don't have your paper, Kurt. Just calm down, tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. I just need that paper. I refuse to fail this essay because of one piece of paper."

"You said that your essay wasn't due until next week. I'm sure you can borrow someone's notes before then."

At that, Kurt looked up. Rachel had never seen him look to feral before. It seemed that, if he didn't find that piece of paper, he would fall apart. The room was silent as he stared incredulously at her.

Suddenly, Rachel saw a piece of paper with a triangle drawn on it lying underneath the table. It must have been knocked there during Kurt's frantic search.

She quickly reached down to pick it up.

As she silently handed the piece of paper to Kurt, who grabbed for it as if his life depended on it, she saw a marking sheet lying on the table. Printed at the bottom of the page was '62% - C+'. Could this be what the problem was?

Kurt had already resumed his place at the table, highlighter in hand, sheets of paper spread out all around him.

"Ummm, do you want to talk about that?" Rachel asked, pointing timidly at the marking sheet.

Kurt's eyes again snapped towards her. "What?" he demanded harshly "Want to have a laugh at your useless roommate that can't even write essays now, do you?"

"No! That's not what I meant at all." Rachel protested. She felt out of her depth in this situation. Kurt didn't seem to be acting like himself at all. He had only ever openly displayed emotion in particularly charged settings before, and he had become even more closed off since they arrived in New York. Sure, she had noticed him studying a lot, but she had never seen him in quite such a state.

"Kurt, it's just a grade," she tried, "you didn't fail, and we all have essays that don't go so well now and then. It's just part of college. English Literature is really subjective, so your tutor isn't always going to agree with what you write. Calm down – it really is just a grade".

Kurt paused. He knew this shouldn't be affecting him so much. But he just felt so useless. He should have known he would fail. He should have anticipated it, prepared himself. It shouldn't surprise him that, given his lack of experience, he had failed to write a convincing essay demonstrating why _he_ felt the themes of Romeo and Juliet have remained poignant to those in love.

Perhaps that was why this was so devastating. Not only had he failed, he had failed in a way that forced him to confront something that he had been trying to avoid for as long as he could remember. His hope for the future had never been realised. He had kept putting it off, and now this had happened.

"No!" he suddenly shouted, "Rachel, you don't understand. This is all I have in my life right now. Just grades."

"But-"

"No. I don't have anything else. And now I clearly can't even write about relationships properly. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised - my closest relationship in life is still my relationship with my father. Friendships don't just work for me like they seem to for everyone else. Apart from my few close friends from Glee back in high school, I've never got closer to anyone than the acquaintance level." _I was hurt so badly in high school that I can't bring myself to let anyone close enough to be a friend anymore. _

_I'm scared_.

"Kurt, I'm your friend. Mercedes is your friend. All of New Directions are your friends. You're more than just-"

"No! Just listen. Yes, you're my friends, but you've all moved on too. You have lives. Whole lives - with school, friends, and relationships. Sometimes I feel like I'm just stuck. I'm here, and I'm making my way through college, but all college is to me is classes.

"I had always hoped that when I moved to the city, I would find somewhere I could belong. In Lima I was always been different, the outsider. But I thought, I just thought... I brought into the idea that one day things would be different. And they're not."

Rachel was speechless. While she usually appreciated such high drama, she didn't know quite what to say when someone seemed to be breaking in front of her. It was clear that Kurt wasn't acting. Which meant that this wasn't drama – this was real. Kurt's emotions seemed to be bursting through some kind of dam, pushing through the cracks of a wall that Rachel had not realised he had built so thick.

"I'm not like you, Rachel," Kurt said, returning to a quieter, more sombre, chilling volume, "you have ambition, but you also have more. You've also got the life you built up, particularly since high school. You have Finn - he wants you, and cares for you. But it's looking more and more like no one will ever want me. I always managed to convince myself that it was a problem with my location. But the truth - that there's something wrong with me – keeps being pushed in my face.

"I smile, and say that I'm happy being a bachelor, or a spinster, or whatever I want to be, because I can't do anything else. But I just don't know any more, Rachel. I'm twenty. Twenty years old and never been kissed by a boy… except – no, I've never been kissed. I've never even had anything more than a quick friendly hug from my girl friends. I…" Kurt struggled for words. This was probably the most honest he had ever been in his life, at least since his mother died. But this honesty was in the moment, driven by an uncontrollable force.

"Kurt, maybe you haven't just met the right person yet?" Rachel spoke quietly, but her voice was laced with subtle determination. Kurt was hurting, and that hurt, real emotion like that, was something she felt she only had access to through song. However, this 'relationship' example he was using was something she could work with. Rachel Berry would do something. This was comfortable; this she could gravitate back to herself. She could try to help in the way she knew how.

"You will, one day. I can help. I mean, clearly I know something about relationships; I've built a successful partnership with your brother, after all. Maybe I can even find you a nice gay boy in one of my classes – I could set you up on a blind date, and everything!"

"No. Just… no." Kurt paused, and seemed to almost deflate. He felt a surge of anger – how could Rachel just bring everything back to herself like that? Why would she feel like it was alright to rub his face in the fact that she was successful in something he had never even had the chance for?

The anger lasted only briefly. It was replaced by a much worse, a much emptier, almost painful feeling. A feeling that must be felt with every part of the body, but that cannot be easily described. It was much more frightening than the anger because it was unknown, wilder, and somewhat uncontrollable. It was the feeling that lurked behind the anger, some sort of mixture of fear, apprehension, disappointment and loneliness. It was this feeling that made Kurt realise that he couldn't push Rachel away in anger, because, despite how her comment made him feel in the immediate moment, she usually had decent intentions, and his connection with her was one of his outlets that kept him from feeling completely isolated and lonely.

He had needed to release some of what had been built up, but now he needed to pull his mask back into place in order to ensure his continued existence. Emotions were dangerous. His last experience with holding out hope for NYADA had shown him that. His mask was his life, for now. Perhaps it made him appear brave, but the truth was that he was not brave enough to face the world and its ability to hurt him without it. Hope had led to his mask of avoidance.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Rachel."

With that, Kurt walked straight into his bedroom, forgoing, for once, his nightly moisturising routine.

Rachel sighed and set a few items straight in the living room before also heading to bed for the night. She cared about Kurt, and this outburst concerned her, but she feared that past this one moment of relieving, for want of a better term, the pressure in his gasket, he would close himself back off as he had been wont to do more and more since they came to New York.

Sometimes it felt as if he had given up.


	3. Chapter Two: Pleasure versus Gain

**Chapter Two: Present Pleasure vs. Future Gain**

Present pleasure as opposed to future gain is an interesting concept.

To put off something desirable in the present with only the promise of something supposedly more valuable in the future is an action inherently tied to psychology. Academics study this phenomenon, looking for the point of preference reversal. Where exactly is it that animals, including humans, start to see the value in denying oneself immediate gratification because of the promise of, or hope for, a better future?

We see this phenomenon in our everyday lives too, though we may not immediately notice it. Have you ever gone to bed with the intention of waking up early to exercise, and then found that when it came to be six o'clock in the morning and your alarm was blaring obnoxiously that your pillow and an hour's more sleep suddenly seemed a lot more important?

Yes?

Well then, you've experienced preference reversal.

This is not just something that happens in the short term.

It's quite common to put off immediate gratification in the present to focus on a future achievement. All parents that push their children to study hard in order to gain entry into a good college are encouraging this mind-set. When people skip lunch so that they can 'save room' for food at a buffet, they are engaging in this mind-set. When people choose to work longer hours so that they will have more money at the end of the week, they are behaving in a way that demonstrates this concept.

Choosing future gain over present pleasure is not a bad thing. The result of always choosing present pleasure can be impulsivity, rashly just taking everything that comes one's way without any thought for the future. Buying a concert ticket with your last $100 and casually ignoring the fact that without that money you are going to have to live on instant noodles for the next two weeks is arguably not a good thing.

However, too much focus on future gain can lead to one neglecting oneself in the present. If all you ever think about, and all you ever focus on, is the future, then what do you have left in the present? Sometimes, someone can come to neglect themselves in the here and now, out of a desire to improve their future.

But what value will that future have if the price you pay to get there is losing yourself?

So – balance. The quintessential element to almost every human endeavour. As soon as you move too far towards either end of this continuum, you can begin to experience difficulties.

There is not a magic formula for maintaining this balance, either. It is an incredibly fine line that we all strive to stay on. Often, the only way one can discover that they have gone astray is through experience. Unfortunately, by the time one notices that one has gone astray it is often too late.

When we get to the point where it is too late to easily fix the problem we have created by placing our focus on either the future or the here and now, it is often a long, hard road back. Fixing a detour of this nature can require hard work, dedication and suffering. This is the kind of experience that changes your outlook on the world. This kind of experience makes you see life differently; it makes you think carefully about who you are, where you are, who you want to be, and your mortality.

Blaine was only just beginning to realise that he had fallen away from the delicate balance between present pleasure and future gain.

He did not yet know how difficult the journey back would be.

/\*/\*/\

For Blaine, this concept had begun to form in his mind in high school.

_Lord of the Flies_, by William Golding. His sophomore year book project.

The teacher he had been assigned at Dalton for English that year had been nothing short of inspiring. He guided them through the book with elegance, understanding and patience.

Like many teachers fresh from teacher's training college, Mr Stewart had taken a thematic approach to guiding his students through this text.

The main theme he had emphasised throughout the year was the idea of the balance between present pleasure over future gain.

Mr Stewart had also encouraged his students to form their own opinions about the message contained in the book. Blaine had come to believe that, ultimately, future gain was more important than present pleasure. After all, would the island have become as feral, had the boys been able to focus more on the future?

In some ways, Mr Stewart had done his students a disservice. In encouraging them to examine a theme with the potential to be so polarised, and in allowing them to form their own opinions without necessarily encouraging them to take a more complex 'shades of grey' approach, he had fallen prey to allowing his students to view these two opposites as a dichotomy. This was only encouraged by the story itself – juvenile minds analysing juvenile minds will rarely lead to anything other than an understanding displaying little maturity.

Not everything is shades of grey. But the interaction of present pleasure versus future gain must be, for it involves a choice between the present and the future. If you are forced to choose between the two, then they simply cannot remain separate.

Blaine had always thought of himself as mature in high school. As such, it was no surprise that he found himself drawn to the idea of future gain being preferable to present pleasure.

He was convinced that he finally understood the rationale of goal setting. He began to place increasing emphasis on the here and now, and less on the future.

This mind-set followed him through high school, informing his study habits, extra-curricular choices and life choices.

Blaine wanted to be successful. He wanted to compose scores for movies for several years, before completing a teaching qualification so that he could pass on some of the knowledge he had amassed to future generations.

To be successful in the music business, you have to be the best (and lucky, of course).

So, Blaine focused everything he had on his work.

After three years at college, he had fairly decent grades and spent most of his time working on his classes.

What Blaine was missing was a social life.

He had two friends – Wes and David. Although the extent to which they could be considered friends was debatable. Beyond that though, he had only colleagues and acquaintances. He felt lonely a lot, and his emotions were usually all over the place, but he had convinced himself that this was the sacrifice he was willing to make to achieve his goals.

Blaine had fallen from that fine balance. He had neglected his present in favour of a future goal. He had realised this when he handed in his final essay for the previous semester and realised that he had nothing to look forward to other than his goal.

He had shut himself in his room for most of the summer, only coming out to work, drink coffee, and play every gig he could get his hands on at the local bar. Now, going into the new academic year, he had decided that he would work on 'him' for a while.

That decision was easier made than carried out.

/\*/\*/\

"Hey, Blaine, what's up?"

This loud statement announced the arrival of Wes and David. They had been Blaine's best friends ever since they had taken him under their care upon his arrival at Dalton Academy.

Blaine looked up from the essay he was writing, a brief smile ghosting his face.

"Hey, guys. Not a lot is up; I've just got to finish off writing the paper for Smithson's class".

At that, both Wes and David let out hearty chuckles.

"Honestly, man, why do you even both with Music History as a minor? You don't need a minor in a performance degree, and we all know you're going to be famous anyway, regardless of what a piece of paper from NYU tells you."

"That's very nice, guys, but I'm only two papers away from finishing anyway. Besides, you know that my father would literally have a cow if I didn't at least finish with a 'complete degree'."

"I'd love to see a grown man _literally_ give birth to a cow, Blaine. Would you like to describe for me how that might work," interjected David.

"You know what I mean!"

"Do I? Why don't you explain?"

"You science majors are all the same".

"I too would be interested in hearing how that might work… Gory details, please," cut in Wes.

"English majors too," muttered Blaine.

He attempted to return his attention to his essay, but could already feel the futility.

After composing themselves (a task that did not come easily for Wes and David), both of Blaine's friends leaned across to read over his shoulder.

"_Public viewing of Operas in pre-Revolutionary France: A Show or a Shadow,"_ mused Wes.

"Right, well, that's not going anywhere," contributed David.

"Exactly. So, Blaine, we thought we might hit up a pub-quiz tonight. They're meant to be pretty fun, you know. Maybe you'll even learn something about Music History."

Blaine opened his mouth to say 'maybe next time, guys', he really did. But then, he paused for a second.

_Isn't that what I always do – put off fun for study? The essay isn't even due for two weeks. They are right, too, a quiz could be quite fun…_

"Who's going with us?"

Both Wes and David paused for a second, gobsmacked. They had both been completely ready to launch into a lengthy justification regarding why, exactly, Blaine should be coming to the pub quiz with them.

"Well, there are meant to be four to eight competitors to a team," started Wes.

"So we thought you, us, Nick, and Jeff?" finished David.

Nick and Jeff had also been Warblers, back in the day at Dalton Academy.

Blaine smiled. "Sounds good, guys. Let me just sort my hair out," he said, gesturing to the untamed mop of curls situated on top of his head.

"Blaine…" began Wes, "you really _don't_ need to use an entire bottle of hair gel tonight. We're just walking down the block; your hair won't escape your head in that short time."

"I'll just be a minute," called Blaine, already locking his bathroom door behind him.

/\*/\*/\

Less than half an hour later, Blaine and his friends were settling themselves down for the pub quiz.

It turned out there were plenty of teams that had studied quite a lot for this pub quiz. It was not one of Wes and David's best plans, as the theme of the evening had been Law and Politics.

"Wes," moaned Nick, "why are we even here? This is, like, the one thing that none of us knows anything about!"

"Umm well, to be honest I didn't even think we would make it, I was expecting Blaine to say that he was too busy working on his essay, and then I was expecting to spend the next two weeks persuading him that he needed to come out with us."

"It's true," put in David, "that would have had us right on schedule for competing in the 'Music Through the Ages' quiz coming up in a couple of weeks."

"So you lot just wanted me to help you win a $200 bar tab?" questioned Blaine, with a hint of amusement playing at his voice.

"Well… we wanted your company too!" defended Wes.

Fortunately for Wes and David, the line of questioning was cut short by the commencement of the quiz.

The next two hours reminded each of the boys vividly of why they were not at university to study law or politics.

/\*/\*/\

"And, our winners are: 'The Law Reviewers'," called the MC for the evening.

"YUS," screamed a girl with make-up caked on her face and, in Blaine's opinion, a skirt about three sizes too small. She seemed fairly typical of about a quarter of those jammed into the pub that evening.

She dragged a couple of her team mates up to the microphone to claim the bar tab voucher.

"Til' next time, suckers," she screeched, clearly having consumed slightly too much alcohol.

"Oh my goodness," whispered David, "I've never even met her, and she's annoying."

"Agreed," murmured Wes, "surely there will be some cooler people next time for the music quiz."

"Yeah," added Jeff, "we might even find some man-candy for Blaine!"

"Guys! I'm right here."

There was a slight sheepish pause from his companions.

"Besides, I think our score of one might actually be the lowest score ever obtained in a pub quiz," continued Nick, "I'm fairly certain we would have to do better than that to make him appear attractive to anyone."

"We should also make him leave off the hair gel – some ideas might be able to make their way out of his head, then".

"Guys!"

"Oh, sorry, Blaine," said Wes.

"I think it's time we headed home, anyway," added David.

"Let's head out then".

With that, the five boys, including one slightly drunk Jeff, headed towards the exit of the bar.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until they reached the intersection where they would all part ways for another evening.

Across the street, Blaine heard that unmistakable groaning of a door being pushed open. He glanced across the street to that little chrysalis of light that the open doorway revealed. He watched a young man slip into the building. Somehow he could tell, just from his posture, that he had had a bad day. It looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he could imagine that, if he were close enough to see the man's face, it would look drawn, perhaps exhausted, underneath the chestnut hair that was partially obscured by his hat.

At that moment, a very happy Jeff grabbed Blaine's shoulders. "Dude," he began, "that was so fun. Imagine how awesome it will be when we actually know the answers to the questions."

Blaine chuckled and turned around, somehow managing to hand a slightly inebriated Jeff off to his boyfriend, Nick.

"That's true, Jeff. But I think a couple of beers might actually be your limit".

Nick nodded, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend's waist.

"Well, we're heading off this way. We'll see you guys in a couple of weeks for the Music quiz?"

Wes and David paused, looking expectantly at Blaine.

Blaine smiled, "Yeah, I think so. Let's get going, guys."

Wes and David had mixed looks of surprise and shock on their faces, but they quickly masked them, each grabbing one of Blaine's arms and setting off on the walk home.

/\*/\*/\

When Blaine arrived home, feeling happy and just _light_ for the first time in as long as he remembered, he decided to quickly check his emails. After reading through a few standard announcements – assignment due times, drop box locations, requests for notes after missed classes – be came across an invitation to a special seminar.

_Dear Music 372 Students,_

_From tomorrow, every second week on Wednesday at 6pm there will be a 30 minute lecture for all Music students given by a prominent member of the music industry. The purpose of these seminars is for you to be given some idea of the opportunities available for you to gain valuable experience during your final two years of study. _

_All students enrolled in Third Year and above music courses are strongly encouraged to attend these seminars. Non-alcoholic beverages and nibbles will be provided._

_I look forward to seeing you,_

_Professor F. Smithson._

_Course Convenor Music 372 – Music Consumption in Europe c.1600-1900_


	4. Chapter Three: Serendipity

A/N: I'd like to thank those of you that have taken the time to read this story. I have found that it has become much deeper than I ever could have anticipated, and I find that it is actually quite draining pouring all of these thoughts out on to the page. I imagine that this isn't everyone's cup of tea, so I'm grateful for everyone that is taking a chance with me on something a little different.

I think our personal opinions always colour what we write, but I'm just trying to be a little more explicit about it. The themes that influence each chapter aren't anything like a definitive opinion on the subjects – I don't think I've completely formed my own opinion yet. But they do all mean something to me, and I'm trying my best to be honest with you, because these ideas really are coming from within me - a stream of consciousness, if you will.

Opinions matter in this story, so please feel free to share yours, if you would like.

Perhaps I need to add a "Scroll down to the third section if you don't want to read the theoretical basis for each chapter" disclaimer?

Regardless, there are really only a couple of major themes left in this story - we're getting much more down to the plot now, I hope.

**Chapter Three: Serendipity**

Do you believe in fate?

I, personally, don't think that the answer to that question is as simple as 'yes' or 'no'.

I think that that question is the type of question that just raises a lot more questions. See? Even in that one sentence the word 'question' occurred three times.

Let's think for a minute about some of the questions raised by that one seemingly simple question.

Firstly, if you don't believe in fate, how do you think the world works? Is everything simply a chance occurrence randomly selected from a finite number of possible permutations, or is human agency the sole determinate of all outcomes? How does human agency even work, if we assume that people don't have the benefit of being able to look into the future and know how each possible action that they could take will affect their current situation?

From there, there are all manner of questions. Many of them are deep, and philosophical, and for you to make your own decisions about.

For the purposes of our discussion, I am going to propose that we accept the hypothetical reality of something akin to fate.

This, of course, raises no fewer questions. In fact, I would argue, it probably raises more.

If you believe in fate, how do you define it? Who, or what, controls fate? Is fate even controlled, or is it just something that simply exists? If it simply exists, how does it come to be? If there is something called destiny, is there an arbiter of that? To what extent is ones fate fixed? Can your actions influence your final destination, or the path that you take to get there? Or, is everything you do simply futile – is everyone just a player in the giant theatre of human existence?

If fate does exist – how do certain fates come to be assigned to certain individuals? What makes one human being more deserving of a certain path in life than any other? If all people are truly born equal, why does everyone seem to express a different subjective experience of life? Why do different people believe different things? Is there a universal truth? If so, why do some people get closer to figuring out the correct answer than do others?

These are questions that cannot be easily answered. I would argue that there is no correct answer to them, and I would certainly argue that, if there is a correct answer, there is no way that humans will ever have access to it.

Life quite possibly wouldn't make sense if there wasn't some sort of direction to it. At the same time, it isn't particularly fair to discount the role of human agency – after all, there are always choices, whether we would like to admit it, or not. Just because it might be easier for some people to sleep at night because they can feel like they didn't have a choice in their actions, it doesn't mean that the choices weren't there.

And yet, it still doesn't seem quite right to suggest that there isn't something along the lines of 'fate' out there in the universe. I think the key point that supports this conclusion is the fact that, while people can definitely choose the actions they take, they cannot always exactly anticipate the future consequences of those actions.

Sure, you can have a reasonable idea of what will be the outcome of some actions.

If you go to a tattoo parlour, ask for a tattoo, pay the requisite sum of money, and then sit still while a tattoo artist emblazons a certain image on your skin, you can be fairly certain that you will, for the foreseeable future, have a tattoo.

However, you would not be able to anticipate that, two months later, you would be walking down the road when a hot individual of the gender that you were attracted to happened to stop you, comment on your tattoo, and offer you their number. You probably also wouldn't expect with reasonable certainty that that individual would one day become the person that you would choose to spend the rest of your life with.

So, if we accept that our actions can have unanticipated consequences, and if we accept that the occurrence of these consequences may not be entirely random, then we begin to have some concept of what the idea of fate might truly mean.

I should clarify, here, that I am not presupposing that the occurrence of consequences isn't entirely random. Each and every individual is perfectly entitled to decide whether they think consequences are random, or if they think they are tied to a bigger picture of fate. We truly can't know the correct answer to that question. What I am doing here is making a decision to accept the premise that consequences do not occur completely randomly. The assumption is that consequences are somehow linked to actions, but that they are also, in some ways, tied into a bigger trajectory of a completely indiscernible broader trajectory. I think that each individual has some sort of 'fate', but that the final destination is neither fixed nor certain.

The question I will not deal with here, mainly because I don't think any one person will ever accurately express an answer to it, is that of 'why?'.

I think this leads us nicely into the idea of 'serendipity'.

If we accept that there is something along the lines of fate, then this goes a small way to developing an understanding of why there are sometimes consequences that seem to be simply perfect. They just fit into some amazingly nice picture, and they seem to show something of a representation of a world where everything makes sense. They are, in a word, serendipitous.

Sometimes it just seems like life decides it is finally time for something good to happen, and it just nudges us in that direction.

If there was no fate, if life was random, then there would be no such thing as 'serendipity'. There wouldn't even be a word for it.

How could we possibly say that we were 'fortunate', if we didn't believe in good fortune?

At the very least, we seem to want to believe that good things can happen to us for a reason. Yes, I said 'good things'. I think out opinions on 'bad things' are more easily associated with the concept of chance. We only like to think of 'bad things' being tied to fate if we believe that someone has done something to deserve them.

So, sometimes good things happen for a reason. Maybe two people meet because they deserve some happiness. Maybe two people are simply meant to be together.

I am not arguing here about the nature of fate, what fate does, or how it is determined. I am simply saying that sometimes something that has powerful positive consequences happens, and that perhaps it doesn't happen entirely by accident.

/\*/\*/\

Let us ponder briefly a few questions that are particularly pertinent to our story.

Kurt Hummel didn't believe in religion. He had made that perfectly clear to the world in his junior year of high school when his father had a heart attack.

However, this didn't mean that he didn't believe that people need something to believe in. If anything, he was agnostic, at least when it came to religion.

He extended that idea to his understanding of the workings of the world. There might be such a thing as fate, but who was he to consider the form that fate might take?

All he knew was that he could understand how the idea of fate gave some people comfort. At the same time, he couldn't understand how fate could be so woefully sadistic. Did everyone have to experience a certain amount of both good and bad in their lives? Or was there more to life than that?

Sometimes he wished he didn't believe in fate. Then he wouldn't have to wonder why so many things in his life didn't go his way. But then life also seemed too empty. If it really was all just random, why even bother?

Kurt didn't believe that life was empty. He would have given up trying a long time ago if he thought it was.

He found that all he could do was keep trudging through every day of life without constantly searching for a universal truth.

At the same time, at the back of his mind, was one little question – 'is the universe saving something amazing for me?'

/\*/\*/\

What about Blaine Anderson?

Blaine Anderson was slightly more sure about the existence of fate.

He had felt sure in high school that his life would be over if he was left at his public high school to deal with the bullying. After the post-Sadie Hawkins Dance incident, he was well aware that his bullies now knew he was weak. Even if he had learned to defend himself, they still would have outnumbered him, and now they were more aware of his mortality. He had no doubt that, had fate not intervened and made his father decide to at least care about him enough to move him to a private school after that initial beating; his life would have been in jeopardy.

And so, Blaine believed that the universe had planned something more for him than a demise due to homophobic bullying in high school.

At Dalton, Blaine had found something of a sense of belonging, even if it never extended beyond the barriers of friendship.

It was also at Dalton that Blaine had truly begun to engage with his passion for music.

Leading the Warblers had given him confidence in his performance abilities and that unique sense of both purpose and calm that he felt whilst singing had convinced him that music truly was the one thing he was destined to pursue in his life.

When he discovered that he also had a talent for song-writing, it was like a giant red arrow had been painted on the map of life for him.

Blaine wasn't entirely sure why music was destined to be his life, but he never doubted that it was.

Going to NYU to study Music Composition and Music History was the easiest decision he had ever made.

Part of it probably had something to do with his amazing talent for music. But part of it probably also had something to do with the grand scheme of things that the universe had planned out for him.

After all, could it really be a coincidence that both Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel, so similar in their lack of confidence in the world to find anyone to complement their existence, had found themselves studying at NYU?

/\*/\*/\

"Hey, Rachel, I'm sorry I flipped out a little last night," began Kurt, walking into the dining area of their small apartment.

"A little?" questioned Rachel, raising an eyebrow.

Kurt at least had the grace to look sheepish at that.

"It's alright, you know, Kurt. I am here for you – all of your friends are."

Kurt wasn't yet ready to respond to something like that. He had spent most of the previous night carefully reconstructing the walls that he had built around himself over the last few years.

He smiled at Rachel, although it did not quite reach his eyes.

"Thanks, sweetie. I really am sorry. I think it was just the stress of the semester getting to me. I'm fine now, I promise. Back to the grindstone, as they say."

"Are you sure, Kurt? I'm here if you ever need to talk. Or you could call your dad – he's always happy to hear from you."

"I'm sure, Rachel. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine. I'm actually going to miss the subway if I stay here too much later, so I'm going to grab some toast and head out now. Can I make you any?"

"No thanks, I've got a late start today," replied Rachel, thoroughly unimpressed that Kurt had managed, yet again, to change the subject.

"Ok, see you," said Kurt as he headed for the door.

"Oh, Kurt, wait! Did you get that email last night about the third year and above music students' thing?"

"Yeah, I did. I suppose we better go, do you think?"

"Of course! This could be a big part of our futures, Kurt. How is going even a question?"

Kurt felt a small smile grace his lips – there was the Rachel he knew and loved.

"Ok, I'll meet you at the Music Theatre on campus at 6 p.m.?"

"5.30 p.m., Kurt. We need to make sure we get good seats. Tonight could make or break our futures!"

Kurt couldn't help but wonder if Rachel was going to display a similar level of enthusiasm every week. Probably, if past experience was anything to go by.

"5.30 p.m., got it. See you then, Rachel."

"See you," Rachel beamed. It was almost like she thought she had got Kurt out of his funk simply by making sure he was going.

The truth was - Kurt was no less resigned to his loneliness than yesterday. The difference was that his little break-down had functioned in a manner similar to a pressure release valve. Now that the build-up of tension and introspection had been released into the world, he was far better equipped to maintain his façade of equilibrium.

Besides, this music students' thing did sound interesting, and it was about time to look at getting some experience in the industry, if he was serious about making something of his qualification.

/\*/\*/\

Blaine woke up feeling a little more tired than usual, but also far more happy. Perhaps Wes and David were correct about the power of socialising.

It was then that he glanced at his clock – 06.41 a.m.

"Crap," he muttered, "my bus leaves in fourteen minutes. How on earth am I going to get ready in time?"

Of course, he then wasted about two more minutes lying in bed attempting to plan out the route that would get him out of his apartment as quickly as possible.

"Half past seven classes are always the worst," he pondered, reluctantly throwing off his nice warm duvet cover.

He quickly trudged out to his living area, grabbing up the clothes that he had haphazardly arranged on a chair the night before. _Thank goodness I'm fairly organised, _he thought.

He felt like he'd barely thrown on his clothes, packed his bag with the necessary supplies for the day, and grabbed his bus card out of his wallet when it was already 6.53 a.m. While he was quite lucky that there was a bus stop almost directly outside his building, there was no way he was going to have time to pay more than a cursory amount of attention to his hair.

He glanced longingly at his pot of hair gel.

However, everyone who is at all familiar with hair gel knows that it is simply not possible to slop a large amount in one place on one's head and then spread it around. The art of gelling one's hair is far more complex than that.

And so, Blaine decided to do the one thing that he had time to do. He grabbed a small amount of hair gel and placed it in his hair, hoping that it would at least control some of his curls.

With that, he grabbed his bag and ran out his door, taking the steps in the stairwell two at a time. He briefly though that he must have looked like a madman as he rushed through the foyer of his building and out to the bust stop.

But, somehow, he made it, tacking himself on to the end of the line of bus passengers just as the bus arrived.

Little did he know that his lack of time and resultant lack of hair gel would turn out to be a truly serendipitous occurrence.


End file.
